gone but not (totally) forgotten

forgive me father (and mother, sister and brother) for i have sinned - in my case it is the sin of neglect or at least, ill communication. it has been nearly four months since my last blog entry and to be honest, i have not had the overwhelming desire to write anything. in the past month a few people have asked me about my blog and why it has run stagnant and i explain that i have been busy writing my novel and i have begun another book on dignity, identity, and electronic drums. i've enjoyed the writing process as it involves much pondering, writing, note scratching and reading authors that impact my style (i'm neck deep in anne lamont and nick hornby). i don't think this blog is dead but i wonder if i'll keep with it each week - perhaps if my vocational enterprises change in the next few weeks or months, i'll stay with this as a discipline but i am not making any promises. it's probably why i rarely change my facebook status or have dove deep into the twitter black hole. for what it's worth, i felt i needed to explain my absence from this forum, but i also want you all (at least 5 or 6 of you) that i have not entirely forgotten you...

another chapter in my reality

My dad had a heart attack on Wednesday as he was waiting to see a doctor in ER of a Michigan hospital.  I suppose if you are going to have a heart attack, having one while in the ER is the best place to have it.  The doctor jumped up on the bed he was lying in and started pounding on his chest and they brought out the paddles to shock him back to life.  It worked.  

Today, Friday, I started to deal with this chapter of my reality.  I had a unique set of highs and lows and my attitude and outbursts reflected it.  As I stop near the end of the day and reflect on my state of being, I realize that my frustration with my family is not the source of my frustration but they seem to get the brunt end it.  I've been disappointed with people this past year and my family seems to be my punching bag to let out this pent up anxiety that lives within.  Tragedy brings out the unusual in all of us.  I apologized to my family -- they forgave me.  

Tomorrow is a new day filled with opportunity and wonder.  I pray my attitude and outbursts reflect that.  

blow up the drawing board...

It's been weeks since my last blog confession. Forgive me for my tardiness.

Three events to report:

1) Church "A" called and let me know that the search committee voted to dissolve and end the search without a decision. They felt they were unable to decide/conclude the objective/goal and thus determined it was time to end their labor. I was the last remaining candidate and had been in conversation with them for over a year and their decision is unsettling. They did place the future of the this job in the hands of the senior pastor to determine the course of this newly created position but I have not yet heard from him and its been over three weeks. No call, no email, no nothing. It broke my heart -- again.

2) I went to an incredible conference on recovering the art of preaching with Rob Bell, Peter Rollins, and Shane Hipps. It was an incredible three days to be with friends, hear from some fascinating perspectives and to be reminded why I want to do what I feel called to do: preach/teach. At the end of the final session Rob was leading us to the Table for communion when he informed us that one of the attendees had just received a phone call from his elders that he was being fired for attending the conference. It broke my heart -- again.

3) Yesterday I spent a productive and healthy hour with a theological consultant for a search committee for a church, church "B," in the Denver area. I found out that out of 400 applicants I had reached the final two (however, there were four late applicants that were being considered). The hour was spent discussing theological nuances and perspectives that had risen out of three months of conversation. This church is a "community" church not tethered to a denomination or confession but still was particular on non-essential issues. I was hopeful that their notion of "community" was wide enough for the width and depth of orthodoxy and that "the community" would be welcomed - just as they are. However, later that night, I received an email informing me that I would no longer be considered because of a sympathy I had towards a non-essential issue, that was very much a part of historical orthodox tradition, that they could not affirm. It broke my heart -- again, again, and again.

One might say it's time to go back to the drawing board. I say blow up the drawing board. This is now five church communities that I have had serious discussions with -- all coming up short. I am the constant variable in this and thus I need to consider the reality.

I am not sure what is next but I hope my heart survives...

The Great American Novel...

Since I came home from Colorado a few weeks ago, I have spent my time interviewing, writing theological essays, taking spiritual gift tests, pondering, waiting, waiting and more waiting. The interviews, the writing and the testing have kept me busy and productive but the waiting has made my hands idle. Not long ago, Anne, my beloved, asked me to start writing, so I've finally taken her advice and began the long process of writing my novel. I've never attempted something like this, I'm not sure the process, and I am not convinced anyone will ever read it, but I want to be productive, I want to remain creative, and I want to contribute. It's a story about a guy who has conflict with family, with love, and with others - shockingly unique. It draws on my own story and the stories of others I've intersected - but according to Rob Bell and Chris Seay, others stories are my story because we are all connected to the God story. Therefore, to draw on others is to draw on myself. It deals with issues of grief, forgiveness, anger, disappointment, relationships, family, depression, loneliness, hope, love, spirituality, art, music and visions. For what it's worth, my working title is "Little Souvenir" and the main character is Martin. (I once spoke with an author who writes without a title and without character names but as the story goes on, the title and the names come to him. However, he needs something to work with so he picks names based on names on authors whose books line his office walls and his title comes from some idea fresh to him.)

Can anyone name where my title comes from and/or why I've given him the name Martin?

Reflections on my Rocky Mountain High

Last week I journeyed back to my favorite place in the States: Colorado. In 1996 I packed up my Jeep and moved to the Denver area in hopes of securing the heart of a young lady named Anne and establishing deep roots in a city and state that captured my imagination. Anne and I were married the following year and we remained in God's playground until 2005 - not bad for establishing and reaching goals! During the past four years, I've thought and prayed about returning the state I love and laboring once again, but I continue to wait on the Lord for permission. I've talked with numerous churches around the country (and the Bahamas) but when I talk with communities in Colorado, something moves within me in a different way. It's as I feel like I am home.

I had a chance to meet with dear friends and to talk about our church experiences over the past few years. It was amazing to hear different stories from different people; to hear from the honest places in their hearts. Yet, the reality was, there were common threads between us all: desire for authenticity, disappointment, discouragement, wonder, frustration with status quo, and even excitement regarding new church experiences and ideas. Though we did not resolve all the issues of the Church in 2009, this conversation was simply the beginning of many to come to push, stretch and challenge each other towards something grand.

I also had a chance to meet with a few companions whom I labored with for years in Littleton. To hear their stories of ministry and life was like water to my soul. It is amazing to go so deep with these friends though we only see each other maybe once a year. After Columbine, it seems that these friends became more like family, and our differences became less noticeable - that is what tragedy and crisis can do to ones sense being.

I visited a church in the area that I am in conversation with. It was good to be with them, to worship with them, and to meet them. I gained insight that I was impossible to attain from my home in west Michigan. As I continue to discern my "calling" I constantly realize the need to be kinesthetic in my approach: I need to see the church, experience her and her people, allow my senses to be heightened and the like.

A highlight of my trip was my adventure on a quad in the mountains outside Central City. I, along with three friends, took an 18 mile, back country, dirt-bike ride up to 10,000 feet. We drove our machines through creeks, mud and snow and climbed over rocks to just below tree-line. It was an amazing experience in God's playground as I was able to take in the beauty of the pines, aspens and mountain peaks as well as have a solid three hours on a quad in my own little solitude. I sang - quite loud by the way, I prayed and I wondered. Though I've shied away from motors in the back country and embraced the true experiences of mountain biking and telemark skiing in the past, I am now becoming hooked on the rush of this motorized beast!

Finally, I take away the deep and profound conversations that I had each day. The trip was worth it simply for these moments of iron sharpening iron. I am grateful for all the friends, family and colleagues that I was able to spend with and I hope to do it again soon - perhaps next time, it won't be as a visitor but as resident...

Explaining the Name...

I am being asked to explain the name "My Chlorine" though I was hoping to leave people guessing. Nonetheless, since this blog is about disclosure, I'll spill the beans. In the early 1990's I was serving as a volunteer youth worker at my home church, Ward Presbyterian, and I had the chance to work very close to two boys who were super-creative. One thing they did was take someones first and last name and create a new two-word label. Example: Dan Czach (one of the boys whose last name phonetically is "Zack") referred to himself as "Dan's Acne" -- if you say his name quickly and add "nee" at the end you can hear it. I, being Mike Lawrie, was called "My Chlorine" -- again, say it a bit different and add "ine" and you can hear it.

As I thought about naming this blog, that name came back to me. I thought about it on a simple level - that being a nickname that reminds me of creativity, yet, allows for some anonymity. However, I eventually chose it because of how I was thinking of it on a deeper level. Chlorine cleanses and makes things new again; it takes cluttered and filthy things and allows them to function again. This blog, as a discipline, allows me to write, confess, lament, celebrate my journey and it reflects what the Lord is doing in my life -- namely, making me new again, clearing out the clutter, and erasing the filth.

The second part, "And Other Spiritual Cocktails," perhaps seems oxymoronic, or at worst, you may think I am moronic. However, cocktails, is in reference to something that I came to understand not long ago. Upon reading and studying what we as Christ-followers are called to know, be and do, I realized we were called to be made "new" and not simply "change." In Jesus we experience a "new" covenant, he tells a Pharisee he is to be "born again" or "made new," Paul explains that in Christ the old is gone and the "new" arrives, and John's vision of the end is of a "new" Jerusalem. It is like the difference between making grape juice and wine. Grape juice is about gathering grapes, water and sugar and mixing them together to drink a refreshing drink. Change took place by swirling the elements together and enjoying the drink. However, wine is another story. The elements are similar but with one necessary component: yeast. Grapes naturally have yeast and sugar in their makeup but these elements are difficult to control, thus, the winemaker needs to add the yeast at the right time to control the fermentation process -- fermentation makes the drink something "new." Through a long slow process of time, care, pressure, science, art within a controlled environment (i.e. light, temperature, time), by virtue of the yeast eating the sugar and making alcohol, the winemaker actually creates something totally "new." It is the great difference between "change" and "new" -- change is good but to be made "new" is our calling. To be "new" is to die and rise with our Lord, it allows us to embrace the necessity of the Gospel each day (though I continue to rest on our security in Christ), and it allows me to see the sweet-grace impressed on my being.

So that is the story of the name -- My Chlorine is my Spiritual Cocktail; cleaning me out and making me new...

From U2 to the Qohelet...

I recently discovered a stack of vinyl albums at my in-laws home. Amidst the stack of Neil Diamond, ELO, Tchaikovsky, and a myriad of other random records was the ultimate diamond in the rough: U2, The Unforgettable Fire. I still remember the first time I heard this band as if it were yesterday. The year was 1984 and I went on a trip to the famed roller-coaster park Ceder Point with my new middle school youth group. I was standing in line for a ride and I heard over the speaker system this amazing song in which the singer was bellowing out words and notes that ended with the suffix "tion":

This desparation
Dislocation
Separation
Condemnation
Revelation
In temptation
Isolation
Desolation
Let it go

I asked my youth leader I was with who this band was and he informed me that it was indeed the band U2 and upon my return from that trip I headed to the store to by the cassette tape. Thank you Chip Hardy for the introduction.

Anyway, the back of the album cover is a picture of the four band members staring at a dilapidated castle; the walls crumbled to the earth and their backs to the camera. Below the photo are the words to the first track, A Sort of Homecoming, which sings, "And you know it's time to go, through the sleet and driving snow, across the fields of mourning to a light that's in the distance." It got me thinking about the long winter of my life - literally the cold, sunless months I've just endured in Michigan as well as the spiritual season of calling, doubt, discouragement, bewilderment and wonder. However, even in the few days since my last post, I'm sensing the light in the distance. As I stare out the window in my office I see the life giving sunlight, the yellow tulips in my dear neighbors yard and the giant bumble bee bouncing off the windowpane. I've also engaged in life giving conversations this week that have fed my soul, affirmed my calling and encouraged my journey.

I've been reading these lines from A Sort of Homecoming and listening to the album (ipod - I don't own a record player anymore) this morning and my mind wondered to the Qohelet (perhaps Solomon the King) and his worldview as stated in Ecclesiastes 3 (the Message - the bold is where I've centered my meditation):

¹ There's an opportune time to do things, a right time for everything on the earth:

^2-8 A right time for birth and another for death,
A right time to plant and another to reap,
A right time to kill and another to heal,
A right time to destroy and another to construct,
A right time to cry and another to laugh,
A right time to lament and another to cheer,
A right time to make love and another to abstain,
A right time to embrace and another to part,
A right time to search and another to count your losses,
A right time to hold on and another to let go,
A right time to rip out and another to mend,
A right time to shut up and another to speak up,
A right time to love and another to hate,
A right time to wage war and another to make peace.

Perhaps my winter season is behind me. Perhaps it is I with my back to the camera and staring at the brokedown palace. Perhaps it is the light that is drawing me into a new season of rebirth, planting, construction, laughter, joy, embracing, searching, holding on to, speaking up to and loving the gift of life. A Sort of Homecoming ends with this poetic line, "Oh don't sorrow, no don't weep. For tonight, at last, I am coming home. I am coming home." And where is my home? Perhaps it's found in the comforting words of Jesus, "Put your trust in the light while you have it, so that you may become sons/daughters of light." Perhaps the light is near again.

terrible gods

It's been entirely too long since my last post.

As I sit down to write this I am perplexed by all that has transpired in my life the past three weeks - it seems as if I've lived a lifetime in 2o days. One side of me wants to rant about all the ways people have let me down, disappointed me, and angered me while the other side wants to walk away, keep my mouth shut, and move on. I think if I had been writing along the way, the rant of rage would have won the battle and this blog would have become the very thing I've tried to avoid: spew. So, perhaps, this is the high road or it's part of my maturation. In the end, people have failed me along the way but this is nothing new in the greater scheme of things. I remember what my youth pastor told me a long time ago when I was in high school: "I might be a great man but I am a terrible god." The reality is, he would eventually make a series of bad decisions that failed his family and his friends. Yet, he was right: great man - terrible god.

So I am back writing again longing for clarity as I move forward. I am pursing and being pursued, asking questions and being questioned, generating options and being deflated. Rejection is a difficult animal as it both crushes dreams and makes paths straight. Lately my prayers have centered on the simple idea of clarity, "Lord make my path straight. Close doors so only one will remain open." The slow process of waiting, dealing with rejection, waiting, questioning , waiting, doubting, wondering, waiting, hoping, being frustrated, and longing wears me out. However, this is my journey, my reality. Rejection closes doors and the path becomes ever straighter.

My goal this week is to study well, read with purpose, write with integrity, and seek clarity. Please feel free to respond, post, email, critique, call and pray. I have been reading Psalm 39 in earnest over the past month or so. The last poetic idea says it well:

Hear my prayer, Lord,
listen to my cry for help;
do not be deaf to my weeping.
I dwell with you as a foreigner,
a stranger, as my ancestors were.
Look away from me, that I may enjoy
life again
before I depart and am no more.

To dwell in hope...

So much happens when you let the cat out of the bag. I am now dialoging with nearly two dozen friends, family members and mentors and these conversations have taken me down hundreds of roads. I've had many jump up and down and scream at my ideas, some encourage me as former church planters, some inform me on the difficult road that I am on, some question the need for another church, and even a few question my motives. I have asked a lot of questions and received an equal amount of answers and advice. I've been encouraged and discouraged, excited and confused, optimistic and pessimistic, ready to move and ready to bury my head. Yet, I continue this conversation.

I am reading Under the Unpredictable Plant: And Exploration in Vocational Holiness by the marvelous Eugene Peterson and I find myself again drawn to his warm and pastoral tone. He tells a story from early in his ministry when it dawned on him that the "job" of pastor he had was drowning him and his family and he was miles from his "calling." He went to his elders and resigned. Instead of accepting, they asked him, "What do you want to do?" He responded that he wanted to deal with God, himself and people. He writes, "I want to study God's word long and carefully so that when I stand before you and preach and teach I will be accurate. I want to pray, slowly and lovingly, so that my relation with God will be inward and honest. And I want to be with you, often and leisurely, so that we can recognize each other as close companions on the way of the cross and be available for counsel and encouragement to each other."

I believe in a community that shares with one another, learns together, prays alongside each other, breaks bread and drinks wine together, and gathers regularly. I want participate in a community who seeks to be missional, intentional, confessional, historical, and purposeful. I want to own my calling as a shepherd, leader, counselor and teacher and I want to fight the urge to settle for a church job.

Peterson refers to his community as "close companions on the way of the cross" and I am marveling at this title as we enter the Easter season. On this Maundy Thursday, this day that Jesus offers his disciples hope, I too dwell on hope.

But it happened...

So...I am seriously contemplating planting a church - for the first time. I do not say this/write this lightly. I believe with ardor that the local church is the most fascinating institution on planet earth and that her mission and her purpose is divine. There is a great fear in my heart as I type these words but I am confident that this fear is not born out of darkness but born out of holiness. I have spent the past nine months walking with two beautiful, local communities, candidating for their open teaching pastor positions only to finish second both times. I have dealt with disappointment, discouragement, despair, and a myriad of other emotions. I have dwelt in my lament and wondered where the Divine was in my journey but now, perhaps because of my new spiritual disciplines, my focused reading, fresh new conversations with amazing souls, and new prayers with my wife, I am finding the light, hope and promises once again. Thus, this conversation regarding my calling: planting a church.

Last Sunday at Mars Hill Bible Church, where my family and I have attended since the fall of 2005, our teaching pastor, Rob Bell, preached a sermon from Lamentations 4 (I would recommend the download: http://www.marshill.org/teaching/index.php - Stunned and Spent). In his sermon, Rob points out that the deep pain and lament from the lead character in the poem, a women who represents Jerusalem after her destruction, reaches the next level in her process. Though she is alone, in pain, abandoned, broken, distraught, confused, spent, angry at God's silence, in disbelief that her great community has been crushed, and lacking clarity, she shifts her posture in chapter 4. She says in Lam. 4:13, "But it happened..." Rob points out that this is the beginning of re-birth - a simple declaration that this is reality and it can't get any worse than this and new life and new dreams can be a new reality. As I sat in the gray, plastic chair, I found myself in this poem but on a whole different level. On my way out of the Shed, our gathering room, I ran into Rob who embraced me and asked what was going on with my journey and calling. I looked him in the eye and simply stated, "It can't get any worse - right?" We shared a laugh and a hug and parted. By that thought stayed with me - it continues to stay with me.

Over the past four years I've engaged the church planting idea but always ended the conversation, "It's not my calling." Even during my seminary training, I passed on the idea but supported others that embraced the call. Since my journey as a candidate with two local communities, it became clear to me that I was called to be a pastor: to teach, lead, comfort, aid, process, engage, and restore. However, as I would converse with these communities, as well as the dozen other churches I've engaged, I would feel a sense of disconnect to their mission or pedagogy but I would feel that the passions, philosophies, gifts, talents, cultural understandings and the like that live within me would be useful to these churches to allow for needed internal growth. Yet, they didn't. After nine months and two disappointments, I felt, in pain, abandoned, broken, distraught, confused, spent, angry at God's silence, in disbelief that my great community had been crushed, and lacking clarity...But it happened..."

So I pray, ponder, sit in solitude, contact contacts, sit with friends and mentors over coffee and pints, ask hard questions, wait for answers, dialogue with my wife and my family, read the scriptures, dream new dreams, and see what becomes of this season of lament. Could it happen?

to begin again...

I've often thought about blogging - in fact, while in seminary, I wrote a paper on blogging as spiritual discipline but I was not convinced it was for me. I was busy writing papers, researching, memorizing language paradigms and raising babies. However, it has been ten months since my graduation and I have spent these days contemplating my future. I've filled out a myriad of applications, mailed numerous resumes, talked with a host of individuals and committees, flown out of state to meet with perspective communities, and yet, I am still unemployed. My wife and I have dealt with great disappointment, discouragement, and disillusionment so we have decided to find other ways to deal with our lot in life - this blog is my new spiritual discipline.

I need to be more disciplined and hopefully this helps. I don't want the tone of this blog to rooted in grammatical perfection nor do I want it to be ultra-tidy. I want it to be daily, spontaneous, full of questions and wonder. As time moves on, I hope I find answers in these posts and I hope I find peace within my soul.

Not long ago I stumbled on a 16th century Spanish mystic named Diego de Estella. He writes in his Meditations on the Love of God, "Open then thine eyes, my soul, apply thy spiritual ears, loosen thy lips, open thine heart, that thou mayest find God in all His creatures and mayest praise and magnify Him...May it possible for me to know Thee and be skilled to love Thee." This is a profound thought - This is where I'd like to be...